


Some plane time

by Keenir



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, POV Female Character, based on a piece of a spoiler for the new season's pilot episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Ah, Watson, good," Holmes says from where I left him at the foot of the steps.  "If you would be so kind as to assure Detective Donovan that I am more harmless than I seem?"</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Sally's thoughts as she transports Sherlock back in time for the new season.</p><p>{sorry its not a sequel, but this is what the muses offered}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some plane time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phosphorescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorescent/gifts), [mariagonerlj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariagonerlj/gifts), [LilacFree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacFree/gifts), [PhoenixWytch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixWytch/gifts).



"Donovan."

"Sir?"

"Got a job for you."

"Yes sir?"

"Transport."

* * *

"As I told you before, your experiences with that other Sherlock would not be indicative of time spent with me," as we make our way down the plane's left aisle.

I look at him.  Was he just now hitting on me, or offering me a job as his sidekick?  I suppose they can't all be named Watson.  "Get in your seat," I tell him, one finger to his chest, and he backs up and sits down by the window.

'That other Sherlock.' 

Time was, I'd have nightmares about more than one Sherlock Holmes.

I don't even call the other one 'Freak' except in rare thoughts - we avoid one another these days; and I'd much rather not think of him at all, honestly.  But to find out that not only was he not an isolated incident, but that there's a veritable family tradition of investigative Holmeses, going back to the time of Queen Victoria - one Sherlock fought Nazi agents, one worked from upon the stage, one foiled a jewel heist, and so on. 

But normally, normally there is only one Sherlock at a time.  What the hell happened that there'd be two of them?

Well, whatever happened, it was enough to put me on a flight to make sure we didn't have two of them in the same country for more than a month.  I was told it was a month; wouldn't be the first time I've been lied to.

"I appreciate all you've done, but surely remaining on the flight beside me is above and beyond your call of duty," he says.

You're a Holmes.  I wouldn't put it past you to slip off the plane as soon as I went back to the terminal; or to remain on board for the return trip when everyone else's getting off in New York.  "Underestimating," I chide him.

* * *

"Detective," he says.

"Which part of 'shut it' was unclear?" I ask him.

"You remind me of my parents," says - great, just great; there's a kid in the seat in front of us, turned around and looking at us.

"Is that so?" Holmes asks.

"Not in appearance, obviously.  But you sit the same way, hold your arms the same."

"Fascinating."

"And," the kid says, clearly not done with us yet, "you talk to each other the same way too."

Great.  "Feel like sitting down and leaving the grown-ups to talk?" I ask.  Sometimes it hurts to ask, but it's gotta be done.

"No.  I've already seen the in-flight movie."

"Found the Easter Eggs, I take it?" Holmes asks with a practiced calm I'd almost call natural.  People who haven't dealt with a Holmes - any Holmes - would say it was an off-the-cuff comment; people like me, we know better.

"There are Easter Eggs in it?" the kid asks.

"Every movie has them.  In the early years of the film industry, they were -" but the kid's already turned around and plopped in his seat, engrossed in the search for those movie bonuses.  After a few tens of seconds, Holmes tells me, confidentially, "I wasn't lying."

You think that's the first place my mind went?  Fine, it did, more habit than anything else.  "Don't really care.  It's a long flight," I say.

"If it helps, Detective, I know several -"

Seems to be a common trait for both of them.  Call the human genome project, ask them to check for a sequence that makes people love the sound of their own voice.   "Quiet," I tell him, and he shuts up.  First time, too.  O-kay, maybe he's not as like the other Holmes as I thought he might be.  We'll see...couple more hours.

* * *

"Really, Detective," Holmes says, not looking at the handcuffs I've just slapped on him - like they're beneath his efforts, and I don't doubt they are.

"I can slow you down with those...or I can slow you down with a bullet.  Which one'd you prefer while I'm at the door here?"

"We're fine," he says.

I go up the steps to the door of the place he lived at before he came back to work with the MIs.  I ring the bell.

Door opens, and...

"Yes?" the resident asks me.

"Ah, Watson, good," Holmes says from where I left him at the foot of the steps. "If you would be so kind as to assure Detective Donovan that I am more harmless than I seem?"

This Watson looks at me, and my brain's catching up.

After everything that other Holmes ' done, all the shit he's pulled and everything... and I'm speechless a moment by the sight of a female Watson.  I shouldn't be - given how many Sherlocks there've been, plying that trade, we're actually overdue for one - and yet I am.  Last possibility I expected, I suppose.

I pull out and show her my badge.  "He's not in trouble," I tell her.

"Oh," Watson says, and from her voice, I get the feeling she thinks - wait a minute.  Me...and a Holmes?  _Any_ Holmes.

Before I can give a rebuttal -

"I assure you, Watson, the good Detective is not my type," Holmes says.

"Looks to me like she's breathing.  That's your type," Watson says.

"I was asked to escort him here," I say, "to prevent a war between him and Sherlock Holmes."

Ah.  Now she's as struck mute as I was.  Aand it lasts as long: "He's - there's more than one?" Watson asks.

"Sadly," I agree.

"You should come inside," and I do.  To  Holmes, "We'll talk later.  Definately."

"Watson," he says, raising his hands as much as the cuffs will allow him.

One eyebrow raises.  "Seriously?  You're going to stand there like that's an obstacle?  This many months, I thought you had up and left to sharpen your mind, and snorts."  She turns to me and asks, "Tea?  Coffee?"


End file.
